


The only one

by aquietmoment (Aldy)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Ghost Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:06:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28798824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aldy/pseuds/aquietmoment
Summary: when his best friend die, Jean knows a stranger young guy who likes prowl in te cemetary . thats how jean fall in a horrible and chilling storie . maybe he could fall too in love with this beautiful and enimatic guy
Relationships: Armin Arlert & Jean Kirstein, Armin Arlert/Jean Kirstein, Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein
Kudos: 1





	The only one

**Author's Note:**

> this is not my native language . i am here because in my languaje theres not much jearmin and i love . i just try to found one place to make jearmin , i hopa that place will be here  
> sorry if sometime thet dont can understenme , just tell and i try to fix it

Halloween was definitely the worst time of the year, since Marco's death all the special dates seemed to have a negative connotation. in fact, spending time together was the purpose, and special days were just an excuse. Arriving at this reasoning managed to dissipate in Jean all the anxieties that caused her not to be able to enjoy the events. On Halloween usually Marco decorated the entrance of the mansion and they spent the night making fun of that time when Eren tried to disguise himself as a titan  
Jean giggled for a moment, because he was just pathetic, who the hell tries to disguise himself as a Titan when he's barely 1.70, if anything. At 20, Jean had reached a respectable height so he didn't see why Mikasa could be more interested in Eren than in him. But Mikasa was no longer a problem, she hadn't been for a long time, she didn't even think about her much anymore, although she was her first love. over time Jean realized that for his good or his bad luck he was not quite like the others.  
Marco would have been the perfect move, I already knew that, his gaze darkened as he crossed the corner. the town was too small and skipping past his best friend's old house was not an option. The overgrown grass, the dusty windows, and his general unkempt appearance didn't help much to ease his pain. However, that afternoon when he was walking back home he could immediately notice that the driveway was clear and the moving truck was quite scandalous on the main street.  
Jean approached almost on the immediate impulse of rage, but calmed down when he saw the figure of an older man struggling to carry boxes up the front steps. in the end he ended up offering to help the man. Upon entering he was greeted by the alien appearance of the unfurnished room - leave them there, boy - the man said as he pointed to a corner at the bottom of the stairs. Jean sighed, there is no way I could let that man carry those boxes up that ladder that he well knew was pretty long  
After almost twenty minutes climbing all kinds of objects up the stairs, Jean was ready to go home, he was dropping some old boards that he assumed were for a bed when the light that filtered through a semi-open door, caught his attention. He salivated nervously and he could feel how the aroma is still impregnated with Marco, he had the sensation of his cologne present all the time but since he had entered the mansion it had become extremely strong which is strange because the house looks quite neglected , even so Marco's room seemed to give off an almost visible smell  
Jean doesn't want to look inside, she knows she shouldn't, it's not good for her sanity, she shouldn't have come in to begin with. Observe the first floor, the old man is outside, he still listens as he talks with the men of the move. you feel the need to look, it is only a few steps, the scent of your friend tells you that it is safe to look inside. When Jean was a child, he was completely banned from going to cemeteries or wakes, as his mother feared that the spirit of the deceased would accompany him home, as children are more prone to it. Jean remembers it right there, standing in front of Marco's bedroom door. He is no longer a child and if Marco were with him, would it be so bad?  
His breathing begins to descend, almost unconsciously he wants to separate the smells, he wants to know if it is true. Some people believe that the spirit never leaves immediately, but stays with the body. Jean thinks of Marco's spirit, he thinks of the prom dress hanging in the closet, he accidentally feels sorry, but not for his friend but for his spirit, cold and lonely, taking care of a body that is slowly beginning to rot. The thought comes to your mind so suddenly and strongly, you can never see it again, you could at least see your room one last time. he quickly looks at the old man and realizes that he is not around, he takes the next step and opens the door of the room  
After almost twenty minutes climbing all kinds of objects up the stairs, Jean was ready to go home, he was dropping some old boards that he assumed were for a bed when the light that filtered through a from open door, caught his attention. He salivated nervously and he could feel how the aroma is still impregnated with Marco, he had the sensation of his cologne present all the time but since he had entered the mansion it had become extremely strong which is strange because the house looks quite neglected , even so Marco's room seemed to give off an almost visible smell  
Jean doesn't want to look inside, she knows she shouldn't, it's not good for her sanity, she shouldn't have come in to begin with. Observe the first floor, the old man is outside, he still listens as he talks with the men of the move. you feel the need to look, it is only a few steps, the scent of your friend tells you that it is safe to look inside. When Jean was a child, he was completely banned from going to cemeteries or wakes, as his mother feared that the spirit of the deceased would accompany him home, as children are more prone to it. Jean remembers it right there, standing in front of Marco's bedroom door. He is no longer a child and if Marco were with him, would it be so bad?  
His breathing begins to descend, almost unconsciously he wants to separate the smells, he wants to know if it is true. Some people believe that the spirit never leaves immediately, but stays with the body. Jean thinks of Marco's spirit, he thinks of the prom dress hanging in the closet, he accidentally feels sorry, but not for his friend but for his spirit, cold and lonely, taking care of a body that is slowly beginning to rot. The thought comes to your mind so suddenly and strongly, you can never see it again, you could at least see your room one last time. he quickly looks at the old man and realizes that he is not around, he takes the next step and opens the door of the room  
The light that comes through the window makes me go back a little and later focus, without a doubt, it was not what I expected, Marco's huge bed is not there, neither his closet, nor his clothes, nor his paintings. The room seems to have changed even in its architecture, it was like entering a parallel universe, there was a smaller bed lying at the back and a bedside table, the rest were sealed boxes. Jean let a tear run down her face, she hadn't cried in more than three weeks and she had promised not to do it anymore, but this was too much, the vision of Marco's room had been denied her. He felt in the depths of his being as if the spirit of Marco now walked alone through the streets without a place to rest, he hated each and every one of the things inside that room  
Jean gulped again as he wiped his face, even so, he remained standing outside the room with the door wide open, he couldn't help but see the things in there, they were so unreal that Jean could hardly imagine anyone sleeping in. that bed. His thoughts had traveled until he imagined a tentacles, all-evil being huddling under the covers that should have been framed, he imagined his icy tentacles and his hands became fierce fists. The nails were beginning to dig into his palms, but the shock of a hand on his shoulder made him jump in surprise and his whole body came back to reality, Jean turned to see the old man standing next to him, immediately all his muscles were They calmed down, fortunately the old man did not seem annoyed, but smiled kindly  
-It's my grandson's room - he says and Jean still imagines the strange creature that lives in there-I see- he comments with kindness -Where is he now? - Jean really doesn't want to know, but he knows that man doesn't He is to blame for nothing, not asking about his grandson would have been disappointing for the man and it would be quite rude of him-he has gone out to buy something for dinner, the trip was very long, we have barely eaten-Jean nods his head - I understand, well it has been a pleasure to help you- he says as he starts to go down the stairs- the old man looks at him as he starts to go down with him -You were very kind, you can stay for dinner if you want, my grandson would do well to meet a friend, They must be more or less the same age- jean imagines the huge kitchen table that Marco and he avoided to eat in their room instead imagines sitting next to the older man and the creature that lengthens its tentacles so big they are to reach the sandwiches in the middle of the table  
-Thank you very much –Jean says to the man while still walking towards the garden gate –but I have a lot of work to do, maybe another time - she smiles at him with some nervousness and a hint of guilt. not quite sure not to accept. Frankly, he is hungry and knows that at home his mother will not be so nice to him. Jean advances towards the road, at that time it seems almost a ghost town, his classmates are in the middle of the school break, probably traveling, if Marco were there, the two of them would surely be at the lake as in every vacation, of course the Marco's family could afford a good vacation yet Marco always preferred to stay home by his side  
He crosses the avenue and reaches the cemetery, he has to go through it to get home, Jean prefers to think that it is not a special place, he must pass by there every day, he has learned to do it mechanically, his eyes only look straight ahead, like horses, unconsciously hides his thumbs in his pockets, does not want to look at the freshly cut grasses or the flowers that are beginning to wither, jean walks at a fast pace, is not afraid to run into anyone, knows that the only person who prowls those streets Twilight hour is the grandson of that old man, who will soon seek refuge in the huge mansion, will sleep under the sheets that are no longer Marco's. They could not meet, the only store is in the opposite direction  
When he finishes crossing the cemetery, Jean sees the street that leads to his house, he doesn't have much enthusiasm to bequeath there, his mother has become distant, not since Marco's death, but long before, Marco was simply there so that It was so obvious, Jean does not need any kind of psychologist to understand that the death of that boy affects him so much because beyond being his friend he was his refuge. Marco was everything to him. It feels pathetic to think about it. But it was the basis of each of his experiences  
When he gets home and opens the door he feels his arms numb and he smiles, it is the pain of having been carrying the move of that old man, usually Jean's outings out of his bedroom were limited to evening walks to relieve the burden of his thoughts. but I didn't feel like it was of any benefit to anyone. he felt useless, and he understood why his mother no longer showed too much care to take care of him.  
When he entered he could see that the living room was too dark, it was already seven at night and it was necessary to turn on the light bulbs, his mother was sitting on the sofa watching television, probably asleep, if she were awake she would have noticed that she was in the complete darkness, Jean sighs and turns on the lights –I'm here mom- listen as she moves to the other side of the room and quickly climbs the stairs as if she has a purpose

Darkness has fallen on the town like a huge black blanket, in his room the moonlight barely shines through the open window, the wind moves the curtains, Jean is lying on his back, it's almost eleven at night, his phone lets you see a reproduction of a video that no longer interests you, looks out the window while lying down. he has made no effort to sleep, since he left school he does not believe that time truly exists  
At this time, normally he would be lying in Marco's bed, the whole town would be dark except his room, the lights were always welcome there, there would be music, there would be movies, and above all there would be plenty of food, enough to make him sit down. feel bad at least lucky. The memory of her nights with Marco comes to mind. his over-tired brain lets the memory of Marco's nose brushing against hers feel real  
Jean is transported to that night, she does not know if it is special, they kissed so many times that she could not say that the moment was unique. Jean is not conscious at that moment, but the freedom of that gloom, that sleeping town lets him clearly remember the touch of Marco's fingers under his pants, promptly his own fingers, he can almost feel his lips on hers and her fingers. sticky sheets under your skin  
Inadvertently he begins to count the freckles on the other's face, so close to his, his hand is already under his underwear, the pressure of the whole day is gone, he begins to feel how the feeling of pleasure begins to consolidate, his brain awake, it needs to be more aware if it really wants to get to something. Jean sighs as she adjusts the clothes and her hand more firmly on his member. Breathe out too much out, it feels great, no better than Marco's touch, but it's all he has now  
Marco is like Mikasa, Jean thinks, he seems twisted to her, she doesn't want to believe that she liked Marco just because he looked like Mikasa, because they both had the same dark hair and were extremely loyal to their best friend. Jean thinks a bit about Mikasa too as her hand starts to move, but it's still Marco's ticket that prevails. Even his freckles, his figure is still so masculine in front of him. Jean sighs remembering the lines on the skin that traveled down Marco's abdomen and were lost in his underwear.  
Jean's hand begins to set a rhythm and her moans are drowned out by the pillow. He begins to remember how Marco's voice was so stealthy during the nights, he wants to be with him, his aroma becomes present, suddenly he thinks again of that desecrated room and his hand begins to slow down, Marco is gone, that thought makes his body is like a stone, Marco has died and now he masturbates with his memory, he does not know if there is a rule for that, but it must be without a doubt among the most twisted actions ever thought. He feels like rubbish, the fragrance of his friend becomes more present, he feels sick when it ends, it is a relief and at the same time a label falls on him that he does not want anyone to ever see  
He was lying down for a while, he can't do it again, he shouldn't keep staining his memory, not with those kinds of thoughts. Jean feels that the heat of the moment has faded and the icy wind coming through the window makes her squirm on the bed as a new discomfort appears. he hasn't eaten anything since noon  
Primitive instincts are strong, he searches the kitchen first, even though he knows there is nothing. You should go back to bed and try to sleep, like so many times, however, the force of destiny is also powerful, think for the first time in a long time, it's not like I'm in a prison, the time is just a mental process, the store is open twenty-four hours, seven days a week, a small stop in a town cannot afford to close.

The wind is icy Jean leaves the illuminated store and goes through the parking lot, there is just a truck filling up with gasoline, he brings with him the necessary things to make some sandwiches and also a couple of soft drinks, as the streets get darker as he goes , some light poles don't even work properly, horror atmosphere, thinks jean, it's nothing more than lousy service, keeps moving forward, passes the mansion and fists are clenched tightly, refuses to think that if he skipped a year in the time would be home. Almost instinctively he looks at the name on the mailbox. "Arlelt" whispers jean as she tries to walk faster  
Soon he passes through the cemetery, he does not hide his thumbs this time, he does not try to hold his breath, it is almost midnight, he has been honest with himself, he does not want to deny the fact that Marco is actually very close to him, he directs his gaze at the bottom m where to believe remember that the tombstone is found, the cemetery is really boring, it does not seem as if in reality you are going to find a ghost there asking you to take it home. they just seem like a pile of accumulated stones, so that people believe that they have not simply stopped thinking about those who left  
The terrain is dark. Jean takes a deep breath and the icy air enters her lungs, she feels brave, at midnight, with a couple of soft drinks by the cemetery. He is about to continue on his way, but something catches his attention, a small light in the background, close, very close to the frame, around there is no kind of guard, it is almost too perfect not to look. It could be Marco calling him, no, that was stupid, he hasn't heard of ghosts turning on the lights so his best friend comes to keep them company, if Marco were there could he feel it?  
He takes just three steps but the thought does not disappear, and if it is, it would be too cruel to just keep walking, I would not sleep thinking about it, the light continues to flicker irregularly in the background. Jean shakes his head, squeezes the shopping bag tightly and in one quick movement, jumps the fence that separates the sidewalk from the cemetery  
He has changed his mind, the cemetery is scary, the contact with the grass and the damp earth is irregular, that at least two centimeters closer to death, which sleeps under his feet. The sidewalk and the grass seem to him now two different universes, the gate was the portal, a very weak portal, but it worked, it had made him feel safe, now standing really on the ground his heart was beating violently, he felt that many eyes were watching him behind of the tombstones, maybe then Marco would be behind his  
I walk then, his body felt light and a little out of himself, he had stopped feeling hungry, he felt nothing but fear and need, suddenly he wanted to look, he wanted to read the name on the tombstone and he wanted to think that it was the name of the Mailbox and not the other way around, the small light began to take a shape. It was a candle, close to it and on its knees a figure on its knees. "Marco" thinks Jean, lamenting, crying his own body, just the night that he ... swallows saliva continues to advance, he is not afraid of Marco, maybe a little but he has more desire to see him, even if that means seeing his hateful face And scary, even if Marco has a couple of unpleasant things to say to him about how he wasn't with him the night he died.  
He is already standing in front of the tombstone, the person kneeling right in front of him scratches the earth, Jean observes the movement of his hand and it is almost unreal, he is Marco trying to dig himself up, his heart hurts, then the light of the candle shines brighter intensity, it's not marco, jean sighs in relief, but then who is it. Jean takes another step and his immense shadow over the subject who jumps and a scream of fright falls backwards on the grass  
-who are you? What are you doing here?  
Jean speaks more violently than he really wants, he is more scared than nervous but his protective instinct comes to light in front of a stranger digging in the grave of his best friend, jean reaches into his pocket and turns on the light of his cell phone the figure in front of him is certainly human, completely solid, he looks hurt by the recent fall  
-I'm just visiting a friend, I swear -Jean frowns, that voice does not resemble any that he knows in town, he knows all the boys in town, Jean bends down a little and without fear of looking rude it lights up his face . He is definitely a person that I had never seen, it was not possible that he was a friend of Marco. Both boys look at each other for a good moment before saying anything. The boy in front of him has light skin, delicate features, almost golden blonde hair and his eyes are a very electrifying blue. it is not possible, there is no one like him there, unless he is a ghost  
Jean breathes deeply, he looks human, but what if all the ghosts look like humans - you are a liar, you are not Marco's friend - the boy tries to accommodate himself until he is seated in front of him - Tell me who you are - Jean watches as the blonde picks up a couple of bags from the floor, it looks dirty and deposits it in a small briefcase, then all its attention is focused on it  
-Poor banshee, I'm sorry you haven't had friends and you have to steal them from someone else -Jean comments as he sees how the Young man stands up, they are not at the same height, he may notice that he is much lower than him, the He didn't seem to like the comment -I'm not a ghost you know, and you're terrible, if I was I wouldn't be at peace thanks to you -Jean feels like an idiot how much crap would he have to have in his head to really believe that he was in front of a grief soul?  
The blonde shakes his pants while Jean is still watching him –so who are you, you're not from town, sure, what are you doing here? - The other boy seems to think for a moment, he does not seem nervous - he just needed a little land, for a project at home - he says calmly, Jean frowns. Do you look for land in a cemetery from all places? - He says incredulously and the other makes a face - there is enough right?  
Jean thinks it's pretty creepy, the heat and the nerves go away and they both start to feel that the mist chills their bones. If he's not a banshee and he's close to home, but doesn't know him, then this guy must be -You are the grandson of Mr. Arllelt- says Jean, although in reality he says it to himself, the blonde looks at him as he starts walking towards the exit, Jean follows his step - my name is Armin - he says- it seems that my grandfather already he has his own friends. He speaks sarcastically and Jean remembers that they were about to have dinner together, that he was already in his room

-This afternoon help your grandfather with a boxes- Armin stops for a moment and turns around to face him -thanks- he says sincerely- Jean can see him again under the dim lighting of the one near them. And heck, it was cute, disturbing but cute, clearly not the tentacle creature she had imagined in her room. She had a pretty upturned nose and her blue eyes were big and were now very calm. they both jump the fence  
\- and what is your name? - Armin's calm voice fills him like a great wave of company that he hasn't felt for a long time - I'm Jean Kirshtein, I live very close to here -Armin nods his head -well Jean, you know if the store is open. I'm very hungry - jean sees the boy, standing in front of the cemetery, his pants are still dirty with dirt and his innocent look, he doesn't believe a word about the project at home, maybe he's kind of morbid, maybe he shouldn't talk to him, that is what you think, however, what comes out of your mouth is the opposite. Armin's gaze was on him, he smiles calmly at him, jean lifts the bag that has been hooked in his hand for more than half an hour –you can eat with me if you want, there is enough


End file.
